Seasons

The seasons roll on by
Like abstract mountains

The woods are glances
The riverbank imagines

The night left scars
But then left blankets

Don’t you think the poor
Should have chances

I’m left-handed
And I’m lost

Six Underground

I've got a head full of mountains
I can't talk about

I swim to the sound
Of beaches

A head full of brownstones
Falls down on my arm

Don’t eat me out
While I’m talking

I’ve got a head full of clouds
And I’m running late

Cornflake Girl

In a world full of ugly men
We were living on cocaine

Hey we thought
It was a good idea

In the throes of a revolution
You have to stay positive

We went raving
Met our ghosts on the other side

We had hot tub ideals
We had wives back then

Cherub Rock

I’m done giving in
I am so done with school

My shadows wear me
Like a blindfold

I’ve been cooling down
The cops are really good this year

Someone is nude
Someone is getting what they want

It doesn’t matter what you thought
The song meant

Sour Times

Tiny flames bite off the pines
Fancy trees are all aglow

In simple times
Handsome knights found wives

The curtsies that I despise
Are not like you

Forgive the teens
They paid their fines

Oh let’s take a ride
On the swan-boat 

Christopher DeWeese’s first book, The Black Forest, was published by Octopus Books in 2012. His second, The Father of the Arrow is the Thought, will be published by Octopus in 2015. His poems have appeared in Boston Review, FIELD,Granta, Tin House, and elsewhere.  He is currently Assistant Professor of Poetry at Wright State University.